Spinning Out
by TheCrazyStaffers
Summary: A tag-team piece by Causmicfire and Bizzy! General Armstrong had the unfortunate fate of having to train Cadet Hawkeye; Cadet Hawkeye had the unfortunate fate of having a great aim while war brewed on the border.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a joint piece, tag-team written by Causmicfire and Bizzy! The prologue from Cadet Hawkeye's point of view is by Bizzy, and the prologue from General Armstrong's perspective is by Causmicfire. The full story (chapter 2) was tag-team written the entire way through.

Disclaimer: Do not own!

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><p>Cadet Riza Hawkeye<p>

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><p>Riza Hawkeye swallowed, holding the small stack of papers tightly in her right hand. If she could just act calm, nobody would be the wiser. She was only sixteen, but if she held her head high and acted like she belonged, she could look older than her years and make a convincing display of being a legal adult. Besides, she only had to hand off the paperwork. Nobody was going to check signatures or identification or birth records. She only had to survive the trip to the recruitment office.<p>

So she walked into the Eastern Academy, feeling dwarfed by the high ceilings and the oppressive echoing of footsteps. Maybe this wasn't the best idea she'd ever had, but if she didn't leave now she knew she'd be stuck in her decrepit old house in a hometown that wanted nothing to do with her for the rest of her life. The recruitment office was easy enough to find, seeing as it was now running through a general's office near the front of the building because of all of the new recruits, and there was a friendly young secretary chattering away at the desk. The secretary asked Hawkeye how old she was, and if she'd gotten a parent's signature, and checked if all of the documents were present before adding them to the pile of recent applications.

Leaving the office, Hawkeye almost ran directly into an elderly gentlemen dressed in full military blues. He looked cross and his eyes narrowed at her, but said nothing to her as he walked to the secretary's desk and gathered the documents that had been deposited there. Hawkeye could feel his glare on her back as she left, and she quietly wondered what she could've done to make a general so angry by simply walking into his office.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, Hawkeye stood in the foyer of the her house, her small bag packed and sitting next to the front door. Tomorrow morning, before the sun rose, she would leave for the Eastern Academy. She'd spent the last week cleaning and repairing whatever she could in hopes that some day in the future a family could move in and breathe life back into the building.<p>

She'd chosen to throw away many family mementos, choosing to keep only a handful of very old photographs, a necklace that belonged to her mother, and her father's old pocket watch. Everything else she gave away or threw out in the process of trying to clean out the house.

After trinkets, came the hours of poring through her father's study, an endeavor that ultimately ended with her realizing that much of the work couldn't be left there-not without someone in the house to watch it. Hawkeye carefully packed the largest box she could find full with alchemy books and stuffed the notes that she knew couldn't be thrown into the trash between the pages. She'd left the box sitting on the front steps, knowing that the books would find a good home with their new owner and that the post would pick it up later. She'd spent a long time debating whether or not to slip the letter she'd written into one of the ancient tomes, and decided against it. The only personalization for the entire package was the address: _Major Roy Mustang, Central Headquarters_.

With everything packed, sorted, discarded or destroyed, the house seemed empty. The halls echoed when she walked through, and despite all of her efforts to make minor repairs herself, the building appeared to be falling to pieces. When her father had died, the occasional repairs came to an abrupt halt; the fact that he had done most of his work with alchemy simply meant that she couldn't do much of it herself. It was a shame she couldn't clean the house up better, but she knew that eventually someone would be able to give the house the care it needed to be a home again.

She did another walk through all of the rooms, searching to see if she'd forgotten anything of any import, though it was mostly to spend time. It was growing harder and harder to ignore the reports of the increasing violence in Ishval, and soldiers appeared in town time and time again to search for new recruits, though they never made their way out to the old Hawkeye household.

She managed to wander the house for hours, checking cabinets and closets and every nook and cranny she could find. When she was certain she'd looked everywhere she could think of, she returned to the foyer, frowning up at the great staircase. She had felt like a stranger in this building for the last eight years. Though she didn't need to leave for the train station for several hours, she gathered up her bag and slipped out the front door, not daring to look behind her as she left.

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><p>General Olivier Armstrong<p>

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><p>Buccaneer sneered at the envelope in his hands. The seal of Eastern Academy was stamped into the gold wax, keeping the envelope shut against the eyes it wasn't meant for, but he already knew there were summons inside. Summons his Queen would rather throw into the incinerator than acknowledge.<p>

Part of him wanted to pass the duty of delivering the General's mail off to the next officer of lower rank to pass him by, but he knew Armstrong would call him on it later. So, he pulled his uniform jacket over his metal arm and made his way to her office.

"General Armstrong," he greeted, his salute perfect, down to the angle of his fingers.

"Fist Lieutenant."

"A letter from Eastern Academy," he announced, holding out the envelope.

Her lip curled into a sneer, and she just stared at the piece of mail for a moment, trying to decide how many times she would have to slice it to turn it into confetti.

"Leave it on my desk, Buccaneer. And make sure no one interrupts me for the remainder of my day," she ordered.

Buccaneer closed the door of her office as he left, and pitied the officer who would eventually be the next to talk to her.

Armstrong stared at the envelope, knowing there was no use in delaying the inevitable. She didn't even bother to use a letter opener, she just tore off the top.

_General Armstrong,_

_You are hereby invited to take part in the training of our newest cadet class. _

Olivier rolled her eyes. Invited? Since when had it ever been voluntary? They should drop all the polite bullshit and just be explicit about it. She had to go, there was no getting away from it unless the Drachman's decided to charge her fortress.

_You're arrival will be anticipated for the end of the month, please see to it that proper arrangements are made for your current subordinates and forward them to the head of Eastern Command. The next document will contain all the paperwork you will need to make your trip. Eastern Academy looks forward to your presence and help in training our cadets to be all their best._

_Sincerely,_  
><em>General Raven<em>

Olivier was tempted to call Raven and report to him that he forgot to add in the second page of documents, but that wouldn't change matters.

She threw the papers into her top drawer, and picked up the phone.

"Miles, report to my office."

A knock sounded on her door, and she called for him to enter.

"Have a seat," she beckoned after returning his salute. The man was quick to follow orders. After all, it hadn't been long since Miles had blatantly questioned her decision to keep him on active duty during the Ishvalan war. Many soldiers of Ishvalan descent were being forced to take leave and those who openly protested the war were imprisoned. Upon being questioned, Armstrong flippantly told him he could fight her on the decision. Miles made the wise decision to say nothing else on the matter, though he redoubled his efforts to be a model soldier.

"I will be going to Eastern Academy to help train the newest set of cadets. While I'm gone, you will be taking on part of my responsibilities. I expect you to have a meeting with Heinkle and Buccaneer to split up my duties between the three of you, and to see a written proposal on my desk by Friday," she ordered.

"Yes, General," he acknowledged.

"You can go," she dismissed him.

Olivier Armstrong had no qualms admitting that her temper seemed to increase with the passing of each day. Unfortunately for her subordinates, they kept giving her opportunity after opportunity to unleash her temper. Part of her wondered if they were purposely slacking off to alleviate her stress, but she shook off the thought, they couldn't be that stupid.

Buccaneer drove her to the train station. Silence filled the drive, and she couldn't help but feel irritated that she had to leave her home to train some snot nosed recruits how to hold a sword. If they wanted her to help train cadets, they should send them to Briggs. At least then, they would learn how to fight in different conditions. She always hated having to retrain cadets once they got to Briggs because they couldn't even walk in the snow.

Despite the fact that she was more than capable of carrying her own luggage, Buccaneer loaded them onto the train for her. "I expect weekly reports," she reminded him as she followed him to the exit.  
>"Yes, General. You will be the first to hear about any Drachman spottings," he assured her.<p>

She nodded, and he moved from the train to the platform.

"I expect everything to be in order when I get back, and if I get wind that anyone was slacking off, everyone will pay," she warned.

"Yes, General."

The train started to pull away, and he saluted.

She turned to go back inside, she wasn't going to be one of those romantic fools who stood at the railing watching the platform until it was out of sight.

"Give 'em hell, General," Buccaneer shouted, stopping her in her tracks. She refused to turn back around, instead she lifted her hand in wave of acknowledgment while a smile found its way onto her lips of its own accord.

Führer, she was going to crush those cadets.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Do not own!

This is a tag-team fic written by Causmicfire and Bizzy! We came with the idea this year at Anime Expo (strange things happen when we work together as staff). This initially was supposed to be funny and short-that is clearly not what happened. Also, GoogleDocs is amazing-that's how we got this written together!

Because we think the same, there is another piece coming up that will be posted in the next day or so titled _These Bones_.

Spoilers: Past not plot!

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><p>Armstrong looked around the room with a critical eye. If she had to be there, she damn well was going to do things her way. Just as she was about to stake her claim on a burly redhead, General Raven called for silence.<p>

"Today, you will all be put into groups to train with the visiting generals. The Generals you are assigned to will make your training plan for at least the next month. This General will also be making recommendations for your future specializations and military careers," he explained. "Don't screw around, Cadets-these next few days will determine a lot of your career."

Armstrong winced, and took a slower glance around the room. This time she was looking for the weeds. At least she could hope to move any of those to other groups.

She was nearly done skimming across the sea of nervous faces, when she spotted the blonde. The girl-and she was certainly a girl, there was no way she got in without a consent from a parent because she couldn't be older than 16-could hardly make eye contact with her fellow cadets, and for pity's sake she couldn't even look directly at General Raven. Her eyes darted around the room, with an expression akin to panic. She was a head shorter than most of her peers, and Armstrong was sure that this little thing could be killed by someone treading on her toes. She hoped against hope that this cadet wasn't put in her group.

She was so focused on mentally conveying her distaste for this cadet, that she wasn't paying any attention as groups of cadets arranged themselves around herself and her fellow generals as their names were called. They weren't far into the list of names when the girl stiffened, and finally steadied her gaze. Evidently, at least when called on by name the girl could act as though she had the skill of _paying attention_. Armstrong wanted to cut down Raven right then and there, and if looks could do the job he'd already be flat on his back. Of course, now she had to move her glare to the cadet approaching her.

"Riza Hawkeye report to General Armstrong," Raven's words were still bouncing off the walls of the room in an echo, as if everyone had been waiting to see where this particular cadet was going to be placed, and they could all feel the chill of Armstrong's dislike. Those words were going to haunt both of them if this turned out as badly as she thought it would. By the look on the Cadet's face, the girl was feeling similarly; as soon as she'd figured out who 'General Armstrong' was, she started looking a tad faint.

Armstrong tried to look indifferent, and moved her attention to the other cadets in her group. Most seemed satisfactory, but only training would tell. Maybe the girl would leave crying on the first day. Some poor fool would ease her pain and marry her, tell her big bad General Armstrong didn't know how strong she was. Armstrong knew the only thing left to do now was break her. The faster the better, probably for both of them.

She was so busy trying to determine how long it would take for Cadet Hawkeye to drop out that she hardly noticed when Raven finished calling out the group assignments. A group of twenty cadets were toddling towards her with mutual looks of anxiety and fear, and she silently reveled in the fact that she still could instill such terror into the new recruits.

"Well, then. Generals, please take your Cadets to the mess hall and get to know each other over lunch. When training locations have been assigned you will receive notice to commence." Raven announced, smiling genially as he left the cadets to file out of the assembly room behind their generals.

Armstrong groaned. Did the upper brass really think training was a time to make friends with generals? Training was for training, not socializing. Every moment, she wished Drachma would make a move at the border, so she would be pulled back to Briggs. Her temper only worsened when they got to the mess hall. It would seem all the male cadets were too frightened to sit too close to her, leaving only spots around her for the nervous cadet to sit. Their behavior wasn't helping matters, either; the only female cadet in the group was getting a lot of amused stares, though it was difficult to ascertain if it was because they were afraid to look at Olivier or if it was because they felt a need to cajole the only woman who was the same rank as they were.

"Well, introduce yourselves already," she ordered when those on benches in her vicinity stared silently around the room. When the men all turned their eyes towards Hawkeye expectantly, she felt a slight connection to the woman, and secretly (in some dark, dusty corner of her heart that she refused to acknowledge existed) hoped she would survive the training. If only to stomp it into the brains of the men that women are the real warriors. She turned to the nearest male cadet. "You! You'll go first and we'll work around in a circle," she ordered.

The men introduced themselves, but they all seemed far more interested in their food than in making proper eye contact or attempting to sit up straight. At least Cadet Hawkeye knew how to properly introduce herself; when it came her turn she sat up straight and looked directly at Armstrong -actually, at Armstrong 's shoulder, but at least she was looking up and that had to count for something-and quietly though sternly stated: "Cadet Riza Hawkeye, ma'am."

Armstrong was ready to give the speech she initially gives all soldiers that arrive at Briggs, but all eyes had turned to the officer casting a shadow over her shoulder.

"General Raven, sir" she welcomed as she saluted. Smartly, the cadets caught on that they ought to follow suit. A cadet at the end of the table saluted so enthusiastically that he knocked over his water.

Raven just laughed as he returned the salute. "We thought that you might enjoy a room full of pointy objects, General Armstrong," he joked and he handed her an envelope full of documents. Several of the boys let out a childish snicker at Raven's line; Armstrong noticed Hawkeye shoot them a look that suggested they might attempt to act their age before General Raven. "That will help you to make the rest of your training schedule," he informed her as he looked around the table of cadets, wondering how many she would maim or slaughter before the end of the day. "Make sure to get them back to the mess hall in time for dinner," he added as he moved on to the next set of tables to pass out another room assignment.

It took the collective cadets a few moments to gather their things and straighten up the mess hall before they filed out of the room. A few of Armstrong's cadets were talking quietly with their friends in other groups. She could hear bits of their conversation, most of which suggested that they ought to pray they got out of training alive today.

Armstrong led them to the marked room, and was happy to find it fully stocked with training blades. She might want to kill some of the cadets by the end of the day, but it was no fun when they killed each other, even if it saved her the trouble. Besides, she'd find herself in all sorts of trouble if she allowed cadets to kill themselves anyway, and though it might be fun to watch them maim each other, it simply wasn't worth the effort.

As expected, they'd already pretty much paired themselves up by the time she finished explaining what would be happening. And, of course, Hawkeye was the only one standing around with the a dull blade in her hand and no one to practice with.

Well, she supposed the weeding could start sooner rather than later. At least it would save her from having to go through the motions with this girl any longer than she had to. There really was no use in prolonging the torture.

"Hawkeye, stop lolly gagging and get over here," she ordered.

The cadet hurried over to her, a quick, 'Sorry, ma'am,' spilling from her mouth as she stood at attention, not sure what to do with the weapon.

Armstrong shook her head. "First of all, hold that sword properly. Think of the hilt as if it's your mom's hand, and you're five years old walking through a busy market with her. It should feel like an extension of your arm, natural, but still be held firmly enough that you won't drop it." Armstrong raised her voice for everyone to hear, "I think all of you sissies can relate to that, can't you?" she demanded, knowing they were all listening in on her instructions to Hawkeye.

Hawkeye thanked whatever higher power was above that the General was looking elsewhere when she asked everyone if they could relate to that image; it gave her the opportunity to take a quick breath and remind herself that the statement wasn't meant personally and that she could at least make an attempt of understanding it. She wouldn't allow the General to see her upset, especially over something as foolish as remembering about a dead mother whose hand she _couldn't_remember holding.

"Since none of you can seem to get started on your own, I suppose you'd like a demonstration?" Armstrong asked.

"Oh, no volunteers? How surprising," she observed, giving another second for someone to rise out of the wood works and prove they had balls. Unfortunately for her sake, Hawkeye sneezed-_Please, please don't let that be enough to make me the example of poor swordsmanship._

Armstrong stared at Hawkeye with a clear look of surprise. Maybe the girl did deserve more than a passing glance. She smiled and looked to the other cadets as she adjusted her hold on the practice blade in her hand and lunged at Hawkeye without warning.

With a split second to decide what to do, Hawkeye raised the practice rapier in front of her to keep from getting hit squarely in the face while ducking slightly out of the way and swinging herself out of what she thought was the General's reach with her weapon. How was she supposed to strike back if she wasn't sure how to even hold the damned thing? The weapon felt awkward in her hands.

"Good," Armstong snarled, a part of her glad the cadet had been paying attention enough to at least raise her weapon in defense. Someone in the crowd gasped as the cadet ducked out of the way. Armstrong could tell the girl was ready to lose her blade if the right amount of pressure was applied.

Olivier purposely sent the cadet backing away into the crowd of the remaining cadets, hoping the girl would show her something aside from speed. So far, she was able to defend herself enough not to have been hit more than a couple times, but there was nothing special about her foot work, nothing that would keep her alive in a battle.

The men backed away as fast as they could, but Armstrong was quick enough to at least yank another rapier from one's hand. "You better be ready to tell me exactly how I got your weapon, Cadet," she shouted in her wake. She smirked at the size of Hawkeye's eyes and struck with both blades, knocking the blade from Hawkeye's hand while swiping beneath her feet. The girl was on her butt in a matter of second with two blades at her neck.

Hawkeye had only just caught on to the fact that backing off was probably going to do her very little good in this instance, when she ended up with her rear suddenly squarely on the floor. She knew that those two swords at her throat couldn't kill her, but that did little to keep her from scooting away as quickly as she could while grabbing her weapon before popping back up to her feet. She might not be able to hit back, but she'd be damned if she didn't do everything in her power to at least stay upright.

Armstrong laughed, which the rest of the cadets seemed to take as permission to laugh as well. She looked over her shoulder and quieted them with narrowed eyes and a snarl. "That's your comrade, cadets. You should never be pleased to see them in harm's way, seeing as they might be the one to save your ass in the field one day."

Armstrong was glad to see the cadet back on her feet with the practice rapier held out in front of her ready to go at it again. "At ease, Cadet," she ordered. Hawkeye lowered the rapier, chagrined. She was clearly expecting to be scolded for her poor performance. "You may not be very good at this, but at least you take advantage of your speed and reflexes. What you really need to do is get creative. Sword fighting isn't all form and posture, it's being able to get into your opponents openings, and not letting them take advantage of yours," she explained, sure to be loud enough that everyone could hear her critique and bit of praise.

"Now, I have someone's weapon. You will be practicing with me next. Hawkeye will take your place." The cadet whom the weapon belonged to shuddered, giving Hawkeye a death glare, before swapping places with her.

* * *

><p>Hawkeye hadn't felt completely confident when joining up, but now she was starting to think this could quite possibly have been the worst idea she'd ever had <em>in her life<em>. At least she wasn't killed in front her peers, but that didn't stop them from poking fun at dinner in the mess hall. She hadn't expected to face sexism in the Academy, figuring that these were the sorts of people who were used to seeing female soldiers. She had been wrong, and had spent the last two weeks the subject of all sorts of 'good natured' teasing. At least her training general was female as well.

If only General Armstrong wasn't so skilled at instilling the fear of death into her cadets.

At dinner, all she could do was pray that she wasn't training with General Armstrong tomorrow as well. Hawkeye wasn't sure she could survive another day of training as such.

Armstrong was sure everyone was watching her as she walked across the mess hall to the bulletin board. Surely, she wasn't developing paranoia. She made a show of sticking up the training plans for her group of cadets, and adding a note to the bottom. Cadet Gibbons would not be happy to learn it was his responsibility to make sure the mess hall was clean before turning in for the night. It did serve him right, however, since his favorite activity seemed to be poking fun at his classmates.

The decibel level in the mess hall was painful, and Hawkeye almost wanted to cover her ears; it was beginning to give her a headache, and all she could focus on was how horribly she'd performed earlier that day. Furthermore, she wasn't certain if Armstrong was picking on her or simply attempting to toughen her up. Either way, she wasn't fond of the woman and was praying that the groups would be different tomorrow.

General Raven raised his voice, almost shouting before people in the room quieted down enough to hear his announcement. "Cadets! Our reports have shown that you worked very well today in your groups. For this reason, you will train tomorrow in the same squadrons!"

She looked around the room, praying that perhaps Armstrong had left and they'd have the good fortune of not being in the same squadron tomorrow again. As she did, she caught the other blonde's eyes. And both could tell the other was feeling the exact same discontentment regarding tomorrow's squadron assignemnts. Regardless, Hawkeye tried to smile weakly and nod at her superior. Armstrong tried to hide her unhappiness, but her lip curled downward as she acknowledged the Cadet's gesture.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye had never wanted to crawl into a hole and die more than she did at that precise moment.

* * *

><p>They had lined the cadets up in front of targets, five at a time, in the firing range. They then proceeded to hand each of them an FN Browning and told them to shoot at the target-and to please, <em>please<em> not shoot each other. Armstrong emphasized that no shenanigans would be tolerated, and that she would personally cut off their fingers with her sword if they didn't obey the rule not to point the guns at anything but their targets. "Remember, cadets, there is no such thing as a _practice gun_. If you hit someone, you _will hurt them_." She paused for dramatic effect. "And then, I will hurt you," she reiterated.

Hawkeye had only held a pistol a handful of times in her life, and the metal felt heavy in her hands. But she could follow instructions well enough, and it wasn't too difficult to mirror someone else's stance. At least this didn't require moving. And the target wasn't moving either, which Hawkeye felt was to her distinct advantage.

General Armstrong was giving the instructions for them to ready their pistols, and was shouting by the time she called the order for them to fire. Hawkeye felt like she'd only just set her eye on the target when she had to shoot, and the recoil from the pistol caused her to take an uncertain step back. She was surprised at the kickback, but even more surprised when she could hear hushed murmuring around her. She looked across the field, and swallowed her surprise when she realized her shot had not only hit its' mark, but had done so nearly dead center.

Armstrong called for the target to be pulled forward by the technicians, and made her way to Hawkeye's booth, her eyes narrowed into a squint as if she couldn't believe the cadet's aim. By the time she'd approached, Hawkeye was waiting, the gun's safety clicked back on and pointed at the floor, standing at anxious attention-at least, at the best attention one could stand at with a weapon in their hand.

"Well done, Cadet," she praised. "But it was probably beginner's luck," she guessed. She called for the technicians to take the target back to it's place. "Again," she ordered as she took a step back, so the cadet wouldn't back into her with the guns recoil.

The second shot hit just shy of the first shot. If this wasn't a continual fluke, Hawkeye was proving to be both accurate and consistent. At least she was true to her mark. Armstrong was starting to become convinced this wasn't an accident, because the young cadet looked just as shocked as she felt.

"The left shoulder now, just below the top of the shoulder-a hit to wound, not to kill," Armstrong demanded.

Hawkeye leveled her pistol, trying not to think too hard. She didn't take long to line up her mark, and fired. She was a bit lower than Armstrong probably would've liked, but she still hit the target almost exactly where instructed. She turned back to her superior, as if asking what to expect next and perhaps seeking something akin to approval.

"Cadets!" Armstrong shouted. "I want you all here watching this. Every one of you can learn from her stance at least," she said, trying not to give Hawkeye so much of a compliment that she felt overly confident. "I want you to go for the wrist. That would help you in a fight where someone is wielding a sword, since you're otherwise defenseless against one." Armstrong jabbed.

That was not the sort of approval Hawkeye had been hoping for. With all eyes on her back, she was  
>starting to feel jittery. But she did as ordered, trying to fight that her hands were shaking as she aimed for the right wrist. The mark was small, and she wasn't at all sure she could hit it, but she fired and again hit the instructed location. Someone behind her let out a low whistle.<p>

Armstrong grinned to herself. Maybe she wouldn't have to break this particular cadet, but there was one more test. "Cadets, pick a mark at each of your stations and those will be her targets," Armstrong demanded, surprising herself with the idea. Now what would the soldiers at Briggs do...? That's right. They'd place bets. "Once you've all made up your minds, let's get a wager started."

Once the betting pool was compiled and Hawkeye had her list of targets in order, Armstrong gave her a moment to breathe-and to reload, which would buy her at least a few minutes of time- and snuck into the technician's booth. "Place a call to Raven," she ordered the technician, and was on the line with him in a moment. "I've got a gem. You should come down to range Bravo for a show," she told him. The only thing left was to hope that Hawkeye didn't choke under the pressure-that, or that the cadet simply didn't notice that General Raven had appeared to watch. She told the technician to place a new target in Hawkeye's booth, more to give herself a reason for being in the booth, than because she needed a new one. It probably didn't matter to stall anyway, since Hawkeye had only just figured out how to insert the new clip into the pistol. Armstrong was about to leave the stall, when she decided it would be in her best interest to have all the targets replaced, just so that any generals late to the show would be able to see that the cadet was the only one who'd shot at them.

Hawkeye waited patiently, unsure as to what her superior was doing. She'd finally gotten her pistol reloaded, and was starting to get the feeling that General Armstrong had something up her sleeve. Her eyes followed the Sergeant who had the misfortune of being the firing range technician for the day as he dutifully replaced every target on the range, while waiting at attention for Armstrong to return.

"All of you gather around close to watch. This will benefit all of you," Armstrong reminded all of the cadets and she took her place at the open door that lead from the academy to the range, so that she could hold all the Generals there while Hawkeye took her shots. She could already hear murmurs in the hall and held her hand across the doorway to silence the owners of the voices. Hawkeye was walking to the first target and Armstrong beckoned for the Generals to hurry up, which was awarded with the sound of heavy foot steps and Raven's voice. "Well?" he asked in a whisper.

"Make sure everyone can see," she told him as she pointed to the first booth and waved the list at him.

Hawkeye thought she heard speaking in the background, but she was shorter than her comrades and even though she turned she couldn't see behind the congregation of other cadets. Since she hadn't been ordered to stop, she hesitated for just a moment before turning to the next target.

Armstrong tried not to smile at their collective sounds of approval over her cadet's marksmanship. The other cadets had noticed the noise behind them, and by the time Hawkeye had finished, she was the only one still looking at the targets. Everyone else had spun on their heel and was now saluting the congregation of generals in the doorway. Late to the game, Hawkeye turned, and the color drained from her face as she scrambled to salute the expectant generals that were _definitely _staring right at her.

Armstrong couldn't help but chuckle at Hawkeye's expression as both Generals Raven and Grumman came out into the open and applauded the shocked cadet. She hoped Hawkeye had the fortitude not to faint on her, especially not with a gun in her hand, although the girl had been careful to always put on the safety lock.

"General Armstrong, General Hakuro will watch your squad while we talk for a moment," Raven ordered and the crowd of generals in the hallway parted for Raven to leave with both Armstrong and Grumman in tow.

Armstrong sat comfortably in the plush chair across from Grumman's desk, which he'd so graciously let Raven use for it's nearby location, and waited.

"Is she really that good?" Raven asked.

Armstrong nodded.

"And you taught her?"

"Well, she didn't need as much help as most other cadets, but she barely knew how to hold a gun before I showed her," she explained. "As for the aim, well, that seemed to come natural."

"Interesting," Raven murmured. "You're dismissed."

Armstrong went straight to her own borrowed office and scribbled a note for Hawkeye. She chuckled to herself while she imagined the poor cadet's response, and sent the first cadet that walked past her door to deliver it.

* * *

><p>Hawkeye was politely answering questions from her fellow cadets while trying to keep calm. General Hakuro was watching her with an expression that she found unreadable, and she couldn't be certain if she was being praised or about to be in all sorts of trouble. He'd eventually ordered them to clean up, collected everyone's weapons, and was about to send them on their way when another cadet came jogging into the firing range. He spoke quietly with Hakuro, and then left. Just as Hawkeye was about to leave, the General caught her shoulder. "Just a moment, Cadet. You received this."<p>

_Cadet Hawkeye. Please report to my office immediately upon finishing the day's training. -General Armstrong_

What could she possibly have done _wrong_? She hadn't openly broken any rule, and Armstrong had seemed pleased with her aim earlier. She knew she wasn't a perfect shot, but she couldn't be so poor at both skills they'd tried in the last two days to be about to be _kicked out_of the academy.

Unless..

She blanched. What if someone had thought to check up on the signature on her intake form? Her father had been dead for a few weeks by the time she'd decided to attempt to get into the Academy. The unfortunate downside of this fact was that he was unable to sign the intake form-and neither was she, since she was considered underage to sign her soul away to the military and would stay as such for the next year and a half. She'd been left with little option but to sign the paper. He was dead anyway; it wasn't as though he could protest.

But if she'd been found out, that would be the end of her military career.

Perhaps that's why all of those generals had appeared to watch her-to see the cadet that was about to be dishonorably discharged without having been in training for a full month yet. She supposed the lie would have caught up with her eventually, but not this soon. In truth, she anticipated the lie wouldn't have been figured out until she was well beyond graduation. She was small for her age, but looked older-only people who dug up her actual file, which Armstrong might be tempted enough to do-would know.

She was already starting to think up every excuse under the sun. Maybe she could say she'd thought of joining up and had her father sign then? Or explain that she'd had no other option? She could even drop Major Mustang's name and pray that it kept her from being sent back to that decrepit old house.

But of all the rotten luck-being caught in the lie was bad enough. Did she _have_ to try and explain herself to _Armstrong_of all people? General Grumman, or General Hakuro-it seemed as though anybody else would at least hear her out. But General Armstrong probably wouldn't care.

In her free time that afternoon before dinner, she started packing her things.

* * *

><p>Armstrong couldn't help but hear remarks in the hall alluding to Hawkeye as 'little miss perfect soldier', while Armstrong herself had been called the principal. It was a bit disconcerting to think that these young men and women were the people who would be defending this country in the near future.<p>

She'd watched the cadet with increasing concern for her mental health throughout the day. Sure, she wanted to see her squirm, but this particular cadet went above and beyond in that category. When Hawkeye finally entered her office, Armstrong was surprised to see that the cadet still had all of her hair (not that there was much there in the first place).

"Take a seat," Armstrong ordered.

It was clear that Hawkeye was having considerable issues with staying still. Her hands were folded in her lap tighter than Armstrong had ever seen, and she was incredibly interested in a speck of dust that was presumably on the floor by her feet. If one wasn't looking hard enough, it was almost possible to ignore the near panic on the woman's face, but Armstrong knew better. It was almost painful to watch, and Armstrong was starting to wonder if there was something to this story that she did not already know about. As a matter of fact, she would wager the rest of her year's earnings on the fact that this girl had a secret. Everyone did. She, along with the cadet's peers, had put the girl through enough for the day. The secret could wait.

"Stop fidgeting," she ordered. "You haven't done anything wrong."

Hawkeye stared. She stopped fidgeting, but she certainly looked far from calm. She was sitting straighter than anybody Armstrong had ever seen, and that along with the slightly nervous look to her face made the cadet look like she was still teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Permission to ask a question, ma'am?"

"Go ahead, Cadet," Armstrong agreed.

The cadet swallowed, and continued to find something on the floor very interesting. "If I am not in trouble, ma'am, what am I needed for?"

"I've never seen such awful swordplay, nor have I ever seen a Cadet with your marksmanship." She paused, letting the backwards compliment sink in. "Skills like that can get you into trouble, and the top brass has already noticed you," Armstrong warned.

Hawkeye was clearly thinking. She didn't seem to respond to the compliment, which was odd. Most cadets jumped at the opportunity to be praised by a superior, but this one just nodded solemnly as if the kid didn't know what to do with it. The cadet almost looked like she wanted to confirm beyond all reasonable doubt that she was not in trouble before moving forward, but she didn't speak. She simply nodded.

"Just be careful not to attract the wrong kind of attention," Armstrong said, almost gently. "You're little show this afternoon earned you quite a bit of publicity. When you catch the eyes of the top brass like that, you're asking them to put you in a position that is to their advantage," she explained, realizing that she herself would be one of those vying for the cadet to be placed in their hands.

Armstrong excused the cadet with that bit of advice, and sat at her desk for a moment. Part of her was happy that she had reached out to her fellow female officer, but her icy interior told her she was being ridiculously soft.

A shadow fell across the doorway and she looked up to find Grumman standing there, his eyes apparently stuck on Hawkeye as she walked back to her barracks. He walked into the borrowed office with a frown on his face. "I hope you haven't got your heart set on her, General Armstrong."

Armstrong saluted, and gave the older general a stare. There was a hint of sorrow in his voice, one that didn't belong on the face of a superior officer looking at a cadet, and she was sure he didn't care for her that much. She'd heard the story of his daughter up an vanishing in the middle of the night. Her parents had always drilled it into her and her sisters that they had more than enough money to track them down, no matter how well they covered their tracks. The disappearance of Grumman's daughter had been told to all military children as a warning to never dare vanish from their parents eyes. It had taken quite a long time for the older man to recover, and he had been devastated when a report came from a small town outside of East City that Aya Grumman had died of the epidemic that was sweeping across all of Eastern. He'd tried to follow the lead, but when he returned to headquarters, he refused to have anything to say.

Armstrong blinked and that look was gone from his eyes so quickly, that she could have imagined it. "I don't let my heart get set on anything, Sir," she assured him.

"Our hearts are sometimes the only things that lead us true," he pointed out flatly, and crossed his arms. "The turmoil at Ishval is getting worse. If she has the potential to be a sniper, she probably won't even see graduation before she's sent to the front lines." There was something about the way he said this that sounded a bit too wistful, too distraught. But again, as soon as she'd noticed it, it was gone, and he was shaking his head at her. "You did a good job today, General! So good, we may just need you back in a few months!"

Before she had the opportunity to respond, he had turned, chuckling quietly to himself as he headed down the hall.

* * *

><p>Hawkeye had spent the last six months in sniping training. She'd overcome her anxiety about being in high places while sticking half out of a window, and had been blessedly relieved of having to put up with her crass comrades in arms. She was the only one of her class who was being trained as a sniper, and her commander had made it painfully clear shortly after General Armstrong left that Hawkeye would probably see the front lines of Ishval before graduating.<p>

There was a small part of her that was honored to be trained as a sniper, seeing as she was mostly alone for the duration of her day. Three months in, she had been told she was going to be sent to Ishval immediately upon finishing her training, and redoubled their efforts to push her through sooner. Her days consisted of nearly ten hours in the sniping tower, alone. The rest of the day included marksmanship training from whoever was available-and by the time six months had gone by she was a much better shot than the majority of her instructors and they often left her to her own devices to practice however she saw fit.

But she was exhausted, and she only had a week left at the Academy before they shipped her out. She already knew the names of her squadron, and she was the single sniper appointed to the group. Alone, she would work shifts longer than she had experienced here in training, and there would be nobody to take her place. She knew she had the skill, but being solely responsible for the lives of so many pushed her to train long after hours.

Hawkeye was no longer the anxious cadet who had joined up illegally under a falsified signature by the time she was about to leave. She was everything the military could hope for from a sniper. She very rarely showed her nerves and her classmates couldn't get anything past her. She could sneak up on generals without them even anticipating her presence. There were days where she sat through lessons with other cadets and the instructor later could only be certain that she was there because she'd been marked present.

For all of her ability to essentially shut off all human functions, she couldn't hide her frustration when she heard a rumor that General Armstrong was coming for a visit. Hawkeye would be in her last few days of training, but she had a feeling she was going to get quite the verbal lashing for a lack of improvement in her swordsmanship skills-seeing as she hadn't touched one since the day Armstrong had knocked her over with one.

* * *

><p>General Armstrong wanted another sniper at Briggs, nearly as much as she wanted to stay away from Eastern. Unfortunately, in order to get the sniper she wanted, she had boarded the train to Eastern, and found herself in the backseat of a military vehicle heading to the academy. One of the cadets who was requesting to go to Briggs had informed her about Hawkeye being shipped out before graduation, and she had to talk to her.<p>

Upon her arrival, she was escorted to the same borrowed office she'd used the last time she was there. It was clear to see the level of anxiety that permeated the Eastern Academy. All of the cadets who had not just arrived had a look of perpetual anxiety, and the office she'd been placed in had hardly been touched since she'd last been there: the note that Cadet Hawkeye had dropped into the trash when she'd been called into the office was still in the paper waste.

The halls were lined with materials to ship soldiers off to war. The building was crowded with cadets talking quietly about their chances to be sent out. None of them sure of how bad Ishval actually had gotten, or knowing what it meant that cadets were being shipped out before graduation. Armstrong disregarded their naivety and continued to Grumman's office.

"I thought you didn't set your heart on anything, General Armstrong," he greeted her, apparently she had caught him during one of his rare grumpy moods. Grumman had a tendency to run critical and cynical when under extreme duress, and clearly that was the case out here at Eastern. Armstrong thanked the stars, and the influence of her family's name, that she'd been able to stay mostly uninvolved in the chaos in this part of the country.

"Our hearts are sometimes the only things that lead us true," she reminded him, nearly choking over the sentimental value of the words. "I want her in Briggs when she returns," Armstrong paused as she realized that sounded much too much like a confession and explained, "Her skill would be invaluable. Don't think I'm being sentimental, General."

"I told you not to set your heart on her, General. The cadets we're sending to Ishval before graduation are being permitted to make requests for placement upon their return. It's the least we can do for them, and every request will be honored to the best of our ability." Grumman paused, and crossed his arms. He looked much more worse for wear than he had the last time Armstrong had seen him. "Some of them are still children."

"But it is those 'children' who will be protecting the childhood of those still free to run and play," she reminded him, memories of her long-past childhood play-fighting bubbling to the surface of her mind

"It will never change that we are sending children into the field to do an adult's work, General. Hawkeye's the youngest one we're sending out, and she'll turn seventeen on the damned battlefield. And she isn't the only one who isn't old enough to enlist without her parent's permission being sent out." Grumman was staring at Armstrong and he looked possibly angrier than she'd ever seen him, "Don't ever grow comfortable with knowing that, Armstrong. I'm not comfortable with it, and you shouldn't be either."

"Sir, I never said I was comfortable with it, but until someone who isn't comfortable with it is in the position to stop it, we have to follow along," she stated, sure that would strike a chord.

Grumman stared at her, furious. Her statement did not placate his frustrations. He watched her for a long moment, before turning away."If you want Cadet Hawkeye at Briggs, you're going to have to convince her yourself."

Armstrong took his words as the dismissal they were, and left the man to stew in his own anger. She'd heard he'd been cross, but that was far more than she'd expected from a man she remembered as particularly jovial.

She shook off his temper and went out in search of General Raven. He should be able to tell her where to find Hawkeye.

She found Raven in his own office, his ear practically glued to the phone. His aide fielded her question and sent Armstrong to the same shooting range where the cadet's talent had been discovered.

Hawkeye was exactly where the aide suspected she'd be. The log on the wall stated that her scheduled training time had finished about three-quarters of an hour ago, but she was still standing in one of the booths, her gaze sharp and focused, shooting at a target that was placed as far back in the firing range as it could go. There were several discarded clips at her feet, and she was propped against the ledge with a sniping rifle, frowning. To any passerby, her aim looked impeccable, but Hawkeye had by now convinced herself that good was not going to be good enough, and was spending much of her free time perfecting her already uncannily good aim.

Armstrong could see how ragged the woman was just by the way her shirt was wrinkled and her short hair stuck out at odd angles. This particular cadet had always made sure her appearance was impeccable, even when getting knocked on her ass. She waited until Hawkeye finished her shot, and then knocked loudly on the side wall of the booth.

Unlike before, Hawkeye just turned tiredly instead of jumping out of her skin. She lowered the rifle and pulled out her ear plugs and stepped out of the enclosed chamber, frowning. "General Amrstrong." She saluted, stiff and proper despite the obvious bags under her eyes. She had a week left before she was deployed, and she felt unprepared in every way possible.

Armstrong wasn't sure what to make of the bags under the blonde's eyes. Was she anxious about heading out, or was she just being worked around the clock. Sure it was better to get her used to the lack of sleep she would encounter in war, but they needed soldiers to be well rested when they first arrived in the field. She was worried about the cadet, and another worry jumped to the forefront. The only reason the cadet had still been going to all arenas of combat training after the display of her aim was because Armstrong had personally insisted on it-but records made it clear that this had stopped the moment she returned to Briggs. This cadet couldn't possibly be ready to go out to war in a week.

"Cadet Hawkeye, I see you've been busy working on your marksmanship and undergoing sniper training, but I want to test your other skills," she informed her.

Hawkeye just blinked, not even looking from Armstrong's face she ejected the spent cartridge and clicked the safety on her rifle, slinging the weapon over her shoulder. The movement felt robotic and natural, and Hawkeye hung the cord from her earplugs around her neck. She stepped out of the booth, unwilling to protest. She'd received some basic combat training throughout the days, but it often came after hours upon hours of marskmanship training or even more time up in the sniper's tower. "Yes, ma'am."

Armstrong almost didn't have it in her to taunt the obviously ragged woman, but she needed to see for herself. Especially after her conversation with Grumman. She may not be able to do shit about sending children out to war, but she could damn well make sure that those children were trained well enough to defend themselves in situations that took them out of their comfort zones. This cadet would survive. Even if she had to beat it into her. Armstrong noted the dull look of autopilot in the cadet's eyes and leapt at the her, drawing her sword in a fluid movement, hoping like hell that the woman would at least move out of the way.

The younger blonde had been watching the other woman tiredly, wondering what exactly she wanted to do about testing her skills, guard down. When Armstrong drew her sword, Hawkeye's eyes widened. This was definitely not a practice weapon, and if she wanted to live long enough to get out of the firing range she needed to do something. Fast.

The first thing she could think of was to spin the rifle that was slung over her shoulder around, holding it in front of her torso to protect her chest. The metal of Armstrong's sword scuffed across the barrel of the rifle, and Hawkeye had to pull her head back to keep from getting sparks in her eyes. She was all kinds of cross when she took a few steps back, not quite realizing in her exhaustion-induced stupor that she'd effectively cornered herself.

Armstrong had no problem swallowing the sigh of relief that wanted to escape her lips, but only because the cadet had barely improved herself enough to keep from being killed by the first strike of an attack. She was stuck in a corner with only an empty rifle to protect herself. And those sparks could have started a fire further East.

For good measure Armstrong jabbed at her with the sword again, this time lower.

Hawkeye inwardly groaned. She wasn't any better at swordfighting than she'd been six months ago and she didn't have the energy to try and be creative. However, seeing as she liked having her legs intact, she used the hilt of her rifle to block the swing of the sword. It didn't matter that she wasn't already sliced in half at the moment-with the adrenaline of being involved in an active spar she realized she was cornered, and if she didn't find a way out it didn't matter how well she could defend herself. Realization dawned on her face, and she frowned. If this were combat, she'd already be dead.

Armstrong saw the look of realization register in the cadet's face and put her sword away. "You could have gotten out of that corner," she all but hissed, motioning to the ledge that could have been hopped like a fence.

The look of frustration was evident on Hawkeye's face. "In a tower, that would be a window, General. The sort of window that is five stories up."

"But this isn't a tower. And that rifle. It was all you needed. Enough force and you could have bludgeoned an attacker twice your size to death," Armstrong snapped. "You need to think creatively. You showed some potential by using that rifle to defend yourself, rather than just curling up in a ball."

If it was possible for smoke to come out of someone's ears, that was what Hawkeye's head would be emitting. There was something about Armstrong's statement that had her angrier than it should have, and she was positively fuming. She all but shouted when she spoke again. "I don't _think creatively_, General!"

It took all of two seconds for Hawkeye to realize she'd said something extremely out of line. She bowed her head apologetically, swallowing hard. Her voice was small when she spoke again. "I apologize, General. That was out of line." The apology didn't dampen her attempt to step around the officer, holding her rifle close to her chest. Just in case.

"If you can't think creatively on your own, someone will have to force you." Armstrong didn't even have to turn to block Hawkeye's exit with her sword, she simply moved the sword from one hand to the other and held it directly in line with the other woman's abdomen.

"Get some rest tonight, Cadet Hawkeye. We'll try this again tomorrow. And in case you didn't realize it, I'm doing this to help you, not torture you," Armstrong whispered.

Hawkeye nodded before stalking off to the barracks. She was exhausted, but she had a feeling she would be awake for most of the night.

* * *

><p>Armstrong was ready to cancel the match. Hawkeye had clearly not followed her orders to get some sleep, but she had to get her point across to the other generals who were now sitting on the pull out bleachers.<p>

Hawkeye rubbed her eyes and prayed that the watered down coffee from the mess hall kicked in soon. She was able to put up a front of having rested enough when she was alone, but some of her superiors already worried that she simply wasn't old enough to be sent into battle. The fact that her anxiety about being sent to the front lines had been keeping her up most of the night for the last few weeks was not going to help her case. She simply had to toughen up and perform today.

Armstrong could feel the generals looking at her expectantly, wondering why she was wasting their time. The cadet was as ready as she was going to get, so Armstrong charged at her, sword out.

Hawkeye had a sword, and her rifle over her shoulder. But this was practice and as much as she _wanted_to bludgeon Armstrong over the head with her gun she knew it wouldn't be appropriate. Armstrong was coming at her full force, and instead of blocking with her sword, she kept the weapon sheathed and dropped to her knees just before Armstrong caught up to her, holding the weapon with both hands, hoping to trip the older woman up at least long enough to roll out of the way.

Armstrong jumped over the Cadet and twisted mid-air so her back wouldn't be left open for attack. She skidded to a halt to the applause of the generals. Had the cadet stayed up all night trying to think creatively?

Hawkeye got to her feet, holding the sword out at the ready, blinking. She wasn't sure how to be offensive with the weapon, which left her with no option other than to wait for Armstrong to lunge at her again and pray that she could come up with something defensive when the time came.

Armstrong charged at her again, this time striking for her side. Hawkeye was lucky that the General was just attempting to prove a point and not kill her. She had seen the woman coming, but she hadn't managed to swing her sword in time. It was sheer luck that the slice of the sword only made a hole in her jacket and not her side; she just barely managed to moved out of the way fast enough to keep herself from being wounded.

Armstrong turned and attacked again, jabbing at Hawkeye's arm while she was still off balance. The tactic almost worked, but not quite. Hawkeye may not have been better offensively but she was still fast, and she pushed herself out of the way. Unfortunately, the move was awkward and she stumbled a bit. Armstrong saw her opportunity, and quickly swiped the broad side of her sword under Hawkeye's legs, sending the younger woman toppling backwards. She cringed as the woman's head hit the floor, hard. It was painfully clear that Hawkeye wasn't just underprepared for battle-she was also too tired to even think on her feet.

Armstrong stood over the cadet with her sword pointed at her chest, and kicked away the cadet's fallen blade, just to assure the generals that the match was over.

Hawkeye blinked up at her, and she sheathed her sword. "I thought I ordered you to get some rest," she scolded as she offered her hand to help the fallen woman to her feet. Hawkeye hesitated, somehow convinced that this was going to be a trap and she'd end up flat on her back again, head swimming. It took a moment for her to steady her vision enough to take the general's hand, and she swayed just slightly when she was back upright, gingerly cupping her hand to the back of her head.

"My apologies, General," she murmured.

"They should be apologising to you," Armstrong countered, giving the seated generals her best death glare. "Exactly how long have you kept her perched in a tower? It's like you've trained out her ability to see anything that's _directly in front of her_. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. I'd love to hear how useful a brilliant sniper is if they can't keep themselves alive up in a tower all alone."

The generals had no answer, they simply stared at the woman called the Northern Wall of Briggs, and nodded. They had five days to get this sniper trained.

The generals had filed out while the two women stood facing each other, Hawkeye staring squarely at the ground, hands balled into fists. She was quiet for a few moments, before sheer exhaustion had her sink to her knees, her hands planted in front of her to keep her from ending up flat on her face. She wasn't ready. Not only was she not ready, she was the only sniper in her squadron and she couldn't defend herself. The only good she was going to do for her squadron was stall while the enemy took their time killing her.

Armstrong wasn't sure what to do. She'd never been one to be compassionate or comforting. She had a funny sinking feeling in her stomach as she watched Hawkeye slide to the ground in complete and utter defeat.

Hawkeye was whispering when she finally spoke, a good few minutes later. "I'm not ready, General." She shuddered, "I don't know what to do."

"You've worked your ass off for months, Cadet. You need to rest, an intensive training plan will be ready for you in the morning," Armstrong told her, almost wishing the woman would just collapse and sleep there for the rest of the day .

It wouldn't have taken much cajoling to get Hawkeye to collapse on the floor if she hadn't drilled it into her skull so much that she needed to train to prepare. She looked up at Armstrong, pale and exhausted, and shook her head weakly. "I don't have time," she whispered. "I deploy in five days." Her arms were shaking slightly under the weight of her torso, and she shivered. "If I'm not ready, it's nineteen men that I'm not protecting. I'm the only sniper in my squadron; I take watch alone."

"Squadrons work together. You will have help." Armstrong shook her head. For a group of people who seemed very distraught about sending a sixteen year old into war, they had not done a good job of putting together a squadron. No sniper should be alone, let alone one as neurotically protective as Hawkeye. She'd kill herself without help, but Armstrong knew that the decision was likely made out of necessity and not out of want. Her only chance was to train some common sense into the woman.

What the poor cadet needed most _now_was a good night's sleep and a few hours of basic training. She had the inborn talent, she just needed the opportunity. Armstrong was going to demand they round out her training. She didn't need more marksmanship practice, and if she did, she couldn't get it at a firing range or from a sniper tower when she shot targets put in the same place day after day.

She pulled the cadet up by her shoulders and relieved her of her rifle. It was time for a trip to the infirmary, and Armstrong would hear none of Hawkeye's quiet protests. "You will sleep if the nurses have to drug you, Cadet Hawkeye, and I will personally conduct your training until your deployment."

Armstrong felt the need to stay in the infirmary with the cadet. She was afraid the woman would get up out of instinct if she wasn't monitored, and she didn't trust Raven and his lackeys to leave her alone. She was at the edge of sleep when she felt more than saw or heard someone enter the infirmary, and her attention snapped to a figure approaching her.

Grumman lowered himself onto the spare bed on the other side of the Cadet and looked at General Armstrong. "The other generals told me you gave them quite the scolding," he said through a chuckle, looking down at Cadet Hawkeye. "I expected nothing less from you."

Armstrong gave him a quizzical look, and Grumman sighed. "Raven doesn't usually listen to his subordinates' suggestions. But you put the fear of Briggs into them, and he couldn't ignore them, us, anymore," he explained. He swallowed, looking down at the bed. "If you hadn't said something today and made such a spectacle of it, we'd be sending a lot of children to their deaths this week."

Armstrong nodded and stared at the man as he looked down at the cadet.

Grumman resigned himself, wondering if Armstrong had caught on yet. Blessedly, his coworkers here at Eastern were not always the most perceptive, and it had been easy to keep them from noticing.

Her eyes widened. She felt suddenly stupid. Had he manipulated her into this whole thing? "Grumman, your daughter didn't just up and disappear, did she?" Armstrong paused, her gaze falling on the soft yellow hair of the young cadet. "She left, because she was getting married to a man you didn't approve of."

Grumman smiled slightly at Armstrong. It was about time someone had caught on, and for the first time in years he thought it might be good for him to share what had happened in his small little family. He'd been a nervous wreck since the application had arrived on his desk a few months ago, and it had taken incredible self-restraint to not decline the application. He might not have known his daughter's husband very well, but one would have to be blind to not know on sight that Berthold Hawkeye's signature was forged. He'd looked at the county marriage certificate so many times, he'd had every loop of the writing memorized, could probably fake it himself if he tried. Hawkeye was just lucky she hadn't attempted to forge her _mother's_signature.

"My daughter ran off with a young alchemist that I had never approved of. When I caught up to them, my daughter was already dead. I found out that they had had one child, and I only met her once. I think Riza was only seven, and she was afraid of me. I showed up at their door in full military blues, and her father screamed at me to get out." Grumman smiled weakly, "the next time I came around, nobody in that forsaken village would tell me a damned thing about them. It was only a year later, so I had always just assumed that the sickness that had claimed my daughter's life had taken theirs too."

He laughed hollowly, shaking his head. "That is, until Cadet Hawkeye's application showed up on my desk with the most forged signature I've ever seen in my life. I would've denied the application had she the audacity to forge her mother's signature."

Grumman looked Armstrong dead in the eye, looking old and tired, frowning. "She doesn't know, General."

Armstrong wasn't sure how to respond to his honesty. She'd expected him to deny it, and leave her to do her own digging on the subject. "She'll make it through the war, she's not a quitter. Trust me, she'd be gone already if she had it in her to quit," Armstrong reassured him, hoping she'd at least said something in the right direction.

"It's in the blood," he agreed, finally allowing himself the slightest physical connection as he smoothed her bangs back away from her forehead, the same way he had for her mother when she was a child. He looked up at Armstrong. "But so help me, if you're wrong, it's your ass on a platter, Armstrong."

"Briggs training is the best there is, and she'll get it," Armstrong said defensively, not quite sure if she'd ever had to use that tone before.

Evidently, Grumman had forgotten how light a sleeper his only child had been, and his last outburst had been enough to cause even the over exhausted Hawekeye to stir. He sat back suddenly, withdrawing his hand, before frowning. "Remember, General...I haven't told her." Before she could say anything else, he was gone, the door to the infirmary closing silently behind him.

Armstrong just stared at the door, wondering if Grumman had always had the ability to be so manipulative. It was almost frightening the way he'd used her to ensure his granddaughter had a fighting chance to survive in what was being deemed the bloodiest war of their time. At the same time, Armstrong smiled slightly to herself. For all of her show and all of Grumman's anxiety, Hawkeye was gifted enough to keep herself alive without a lot of interference.

* * *

><p>Armstrong felt like she was sending off one of her own men as Cadet Hawkeye shouldered her bag and went up the steps to the platform. The General followed after her, not sure when to bring up the subject that had brought her down to Eastern in the first place. She couldn't believe she'd let the opportunity slip past her until now.<p>

She let out a quiet breath of relief when she saw that the platform was far too packed for the cadet to get on the train right away.

Hawkeye turned to face her, her fingers already in place for a salute. "Thank you, General, for all of your help." Armstrong wondered if this was the first time she'd seen the young woman actually smile at her.

"It wasn't help, it was the training you should have received from the very beginning," she explained, feeling that the lapse was her fault for wanting nothing to do with cadet training in the first place. "When you get back from Ishval, there will be a place for you at Briggs. You've already proven that you are one of the fittest," Armstrong said, giving her an actual compliment for the first time.

Hawkeye was about to open her mouth to respond when someone caught her arm and started pulling her into the train. The young soldier turned, but had already been dragged into the sea of the crowd. By the time she could pick out the General's face in the crowd again, the train was leaving the platform.

* * *

><p>Armstrong didn't get much by means of personal correspondence at Briggs, and as such she rarely needed someone to go through the mail. The most personal letters she received through the post were from her family, and her soldiers at Briggs knew what to expect of those letters and as such rarely had much to say about them.<p>

Which was why First Lieutenant Buccaneer had been so perplexed when he came across a small letter written in small, neat script addressed to the General that was stamped from Eastern Headquarters.

_Dear General Armstrong,_

_I apologize for not writing you sooner. It's been a few weeks since we were recalled from the front line, but I have been in the hospital. It wasn't for any lack of training, I assure you. An accident is an accident, and I was caught in friendly fire. _

_I am being stationed in East City. Though I can't thank you enough for everything you've taught me, I joined the military for a very specific reason and to see through a very specific goal. It would be an honor to work for the Northern Wall of Briggs, but I simply have matters to attend to here. _

_I cannot protect someone in the East from a Northern base; proximity is everything, General. I'm sure you understand. He needs my support more than you ever would, and I could never deny him that, not after what he's done for me. I owe him my life._

_It is because of your training that I made it out of Ishval alive, and I can't thank you enough. Had you not taught me that I couldn't protect myself, I never would have survived long enough to protect others. _

_I hope that my rejection of your offer is not grounds for never hearing from you again, General. There are very few of us who have earned our ranks and our titles, and when we do we might be well served to work together rather than against each other._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Sincerely,_  
><em>The Hawk's Eye<em>

Buccaneer handed the letter off to Armstrong once she returned to her office. She raised and eyebrow and he shrugged, not sure what to make of it on his own. "A letter of thanks?" he summarized. "Signed The Hawk's Eye."

Armstrong pulled the letter out of it's envelope and growled as she read it. "I need the _Amestris Times_," she demanded, knowing her copy had gone into the waste bin in her barracks.

Buccaneer nodded and left the room. He'd already read the letter, so he knew to flip to the section about the veterans returning from Ishval.

Armstrong tore it out of his hand as soon as he stepped into the office. "You're dismissed," she stated, and nearly shoved the door shut in his face.

She found the story she'd skimmed that morning. 'The Hero of Ishval' it read in bold letters above a fuzzy picture of a raven-haired man. There was mention of a sniper in there...she found it. _Among the many talented men and women return to East City is the Flame Alchemist, Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang. During a quick interview he acknowledges that he did help put the war to an end, but pointed out that if it hadn't been for his sister squadron and their mysterious sniper who'd earned the name the Hawk's Eye, they would not have made it out alive. One of the men in the crowd pointed out that the sniper would be joining their team in East City once the wounds they received from friendly fire had healed enough for them to be discharged from the Eastern hospital. _

Armstrong discarded the paper into the waste basket in her office. That was all the confirmation she needed. Hawkeye was in Eastern, and this Flame Alchemist was the 'he' who needed Hawkeye's support.

Roy Mustang was not a name Armstrong was going to easily forget.

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><p>Note: IT'S A MONSTER FIC, GUYS.<p>

Look out for our next piece (continues in the "Spinning Out"-verse!) titled _These Bones_. Fire and I should not be allowed to write together, craziness ensues.


End file.
